


A Golden Strand

by calrissian18



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Character Death, Depression, Jealousy, Jumps from Past to Present, Language, M/M, Melodrama, Polyjuice Abuse, Unrequited
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-31
Updated: 2013-05-31
Packaged: 2017-12-13 13:44:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/824935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/calrissian18/pseuds/calrissian18
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry's body thirsts for his drug. Meet his addiction: his blond-haired lover that rivals Adonis himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Golden Strand

**Author's Note:**

> Every time there's a line break, there's a corresponding time jump. Jumps from past to present, should be discernible though!

 

Fuck, Harry was jittery. He needed his fix.  _Now_.  He scurried down the dimly lit, sodden back alleyways like the rat he was. The brick walls and cobble roads of the tight paths gave him a sense of foreboding and claustrophobia. He was careful to keep his head down and avoid eye contact with the other unfortunates with similar addictions.

Harry pulled up his cloak to cover the lower half of his face as he came upon the shabby-looking warehouse with the dull facade. He eagerly wrenched the door open and, despite his practically-daily visits, the interior still took his breath away.

A diamond-studded chandelier illuminated the marble floors and grand stairs with rich oak banisters led the way to the main landing. Harry made his way over to the man at the front desk, the only person or thing in the humongous entryway. It had a sort of unhindered elegance. There were two entryways on either side of the counter and, instead of doors, the entrances were cloaked and a transparent, undulating barrier obscured what lay beyond them.

Harry didn't recognize the man at the counter. The face was never the same. Harry wasn't sure if the man was different or if his features simply changed day by day.

"Ah, Mr. White, welcome back," the man said smoothly.  "The usual?"

"I'll be waiting in the regular room," Harry answered with a sharp nod.  His body was aching for the only thing that could fulfill it and he didn't have time for pleasantries.

"Five minutes," the man said, writing something down in a ledger and grabbing a seemingly empty tube off the wall from behind him.

Harry nodded and made his way up the imposing staircase, his hand caressing the smooth banister, his eyes taking in the opulence of the manor. He made his way to the room that held nearly every moment that had ever set his skin aflame, nearly every moment that had ever taken his breath away, nearly every moment that had ever made his life worth living.

He walked down the hallway, muted light bouncing back off the old-fashioned wallpaper, and stopped at the familiar white door.  The room within held a hardwood floor, a bed, a pouf and a light covered with a lightweight white shawl.  For ambiance, Harry supposed.  The mattress was low and covered in a blood red bedspread and Harry knew it was heaven to sleep in.  The walls were light green and calming.

Harry took off his tattered overcoat, threw it on the bed, and settled into the pouf where he allowed his entire body to relax and his eyelids to grow heavy. The door opened moments later and a man entered.  He was wearing something light, billowy on top that directly contrasted with the tight black leather trousers below.  Harry inhaled sharply. "Strip," he ordered tightly.

The flaxen-haired beauty smirked and began swinging his hips back and forth.  His strong hands found the top button of his shirt. His fingers worked quickly, at near preternatural speed, and soon the shirt was hanging on his frame as he moved closer to Harry. His body swayed with some music only he could hear and he pulled off the constricting fabric before straddling Harry's hips.

"You're still covered," Harry croaked, his hands resting on the man's leather-clad thighs to accentuate his point.

He simply smirked and moved Harry's forefingers to the waist of his trousers, whispering lowly, " _Ignotus_." Harry's fingertips burned as if they were on fire and the man moved them down his thighs slowly. Harry watched the leather burn and separate where his fingers touched. He continued down to the man's ankles, where the last of the leather fell away.

Harry's eyes devoured the sight in front of him. It didn't matter how many times he saw it.  Draco's body was still a sight to see. The golden, light strands that covered Draco's legs, privates, and the trail from his bellybutton down transfixed him. He was thin but he no longer looked poorly like he had during their sixth year.  His shoulders were broader than anyone would expect and he had muscles, however well he hid them.

Harry pulled his faded, worn t-shirt over his head, unbuttoned his frayed jeans, lifted up - Draco rising with him, and pulled both his pants and jeans halfway down.  He kicked off his boots and holey socks so he could get them the rest of the way off. Draco settled back on top of him.

"No, the bed, on your back," Harry rasped, shaking his head.

He grabbed his coat and threw it to the floor so Draco could do as he was told. Harry stood admiring the man spread out in front of him, _for him_ , and stroked himself as he thought about everything he could do to him. Harry climbed onto the bed and moved up Draco's body slowly, taking the time to cherish every inch of skin he had already more than memorized.

He finally brought his lips to those of his temptation's. He teased Draco's soft lower lip between his teeth, sucked it into his mouth and ran his tongue along the curve of it, delighting in the flavor that could only be described as _Draco_. He alternated, kissing Draco's lower and upper lip before shoving his tongue into Draco's mouth.  They surged against one another with tongues and bodies. Harry's hands never stopped roaming but occasionally paused in Draco's willowy hair, tangling strands around his fingers.

Harry released Draco's lips and lingeringly kissed each cheek. "I want you, tell me you're mine." Harry's voice was bereft.

"I'm yours," Draco whispered back, licking his lip after the slightest hesitation. Harry slid his hand down the lithe body, curled his fingers around Draco's cock, teased the sensitive skin of his perineum.  "Lubrication," Harry grunted.  Draco pulled out a clear vial from the nightstand next to the bed.  The light rattled and the shawl slipped down an inch or two.

Harry held out his hand for it but instead of dropping it into Harry's waiting palm, Draco took it upon himself to flick open the cap and squeeze a fair amount into Harry's hand.  Harry pressed further back than he'd explored before, against the tight ring of muscles and he pushed in two fingers at a time, careful not to hurt the man beneath him even while his impatience gnawed at him.  Draco gasped and keened, fingers twisting in the sheets, his body not used to having anything inside it.

"Don't tense, baby," Harry whispered as Draco clenched around him. "One more," Harry supplemented as he added another finger. He fucked Draco with them, twisting into him with more force behind his movements. He found Draco's prostate and stroked while Draco writhed, tears of exertion and pain shining at the corners of his eyes.

Harry removed his hand and his green eyes bored into grey. He positioned himself at Draco's entrance, keeping eye contact with him.  "Tell me you love me."  Draco licked his lips but didn't say a word. "Say it," Harry demanded.

"I love you," Draco relented, eyes flitting away helplessly. Harry disappeared into Draco inch by inch until he was buried to the hilt. He stilled his body on trembling arms.  Draco squirmed and pushed back and away by degrees but Harry didn't oblige him either way.  "Tell me I'm better than those bloody trollops. Tell me I'm the one." Harry held his breath as he anxiously awaited what he made Draco say every time they made love. Somehow he always expected to be denied, as he was the first time.

"You're my universe. There's no one and nothing superior to you," Draco whimpered, the words taking on an almost manic edge in his efforts to be fucked.

Harry exhaled and kissed Draco's brow before pounding into him. Sweat poured off of him as he put everything he had into making Draco _feel_ him. The room suddenly felt constricting and his breathing became labored. Harry gripped Draco's thighs where they were cradling his hips.  His fingertips were bound to leave bruises on the delicate skin but he didn't care.  They would be gone when he returned tomorrow.

He gripped Draco's cock in hand and was rewarded with a guttural moan, pulled up from the depths of his insides.  Harry ran the flat of his thumb along the underside of Draco's not-unimpressive cock.  He wanted to get his mouth on it.  Draco arched into his hand, pushing back on Harry's buried cock with the action.  It sparked something in him and he tightened his fingers around Draco's hips and thrust into him, feeling feral.

The different paces were driving Draco wild but Harry refused to alter either. He ran his thumb over the slit of his dick in circular motions, his forefinger teasing the ridge between head and shaft, while he plunged his cock in faster and harder. He all but rested his fingers on the shaft while he shifted his thumb vertically up and down the most prominent vein, squeezing gently on occasion, exploring Draco's cock while driving into him with an animalistic urgency.

Draco's body tensed and his fingers dug in to Harry's biceps as he came all over Harry's hand and his own stomach. Draco clamped down on him reflexively and it milked Harry's climax from him against his will.  He thrust into his completion before collapsing on top of Draco.

He withdrew from Draco's body and pulled him into his arms so that they were lying face to face. Harry slid his fingers through Draco's sweaty hair. He loved it more than he should, the color and the softness of it, but it was his eyes that kept him coming back. Those wintry grey windows that held Harry hostage. He loved Draco.  No, it was beyond that now.  This was something different, something darker, something that edged on obsession.

That's why no one aside from them was privy to these moments.

* * *

"Draco?  Do you have a minute?" Harry was wringing his hands and his voice was shaky. They were on good terms but by no means friendly. They had only recently decided to try using each other's given names. Harry had followed Draco outside, away from the racket of the party.

Draco was leaning with his forearms on the balcony and he barely turned when he replied, "Course you can, Po-zHarry."

Harry took a deep breath, preparing to divulge the secret he had been diligently keeping since third year. He moved forward a step, tentatively placing a hand on Draco's forearm.  It was a rarity for them to touch so familiarly and it was enough to make Draco face him. Harry closed his eyes and inhaled deeply.

"You look handsome tonight," Harry stalled.  He had wanted to tell Draco since he had arrived and now that he had him alone, he could. Draco did look very suave in a svelte black suit and a skinny white tie with his hair slicked back, although a few strands had broken loose due to party fouls and now those pieces framed his face. His grey eyes held so much depth. Harry's throat constricted and all he could think was that this man was _so far_ out of his league.

"I-I…" Harry stuttered nervously.

Draco seemed to realize Harry was having trouble and he led them over to the only two chairs with a sympathetic frown.  The elaborate designs of wrought iron bit into Harry's back uncomfortably while Draco sat in his seat elegantly.  Harry's fingers trembled on his thighs and he wrapped them around each other to hide it.  His eyes shifted over to Draco's torso, unable to meet his gaze.  Harry huffed out a heavy breath and said, "There's something – something you should know."

"Harry, you're trembling," Draco said, frown deepening.  His hand reached out to cover the mess of Harry's. Harry turned one so that his palm was against Draco's and he timidly interlaced their fingers. The muscles in Draco's hand stiffened but he didn't withdraw.

"I have feelings for you." No, Harry shook his head to chastise himself, he wasn't doing this halfway. "I'm in love with you."

Draco's hand was gone from his in the blink of an eye and he _broadcasted_ discomfort.  "Oh god, Harry, I – I respect you and this, what we have now, between us, it's good. But I'm… blokes don't, ah, do it for me. I'm just not interested in – but I really like you, I hope we can still be friends."

Harry was biting his lower lip so hard that a metallic taste tainted his mouth. It was a good distraction from the pain. "I don't know if I can do that, Draco. I'd like that but—"

Draco looked at him sadly and he seemed unsure as to whether or not he should touch Harry to reassure him.  "It's okay, Harry. I understand. Let me know when you're sure of what you want."

Harry stood and thrust out his chin defiantly.  "I already did."

Draco hung his head and rested his elbows on his knees and his forehead on the thumbs of his crossed hands.  "I'm sorry, Harry. I really am. I wish—"

Draco was only making it worse. His somehow _charming_ rejection was only serving to remind Harry of exactly how amazing he was and why he had fallen in love with him in the first place. "Just don't. You're being really nice but don't. You can't say what I want to hear anymore. I'm going to go."

Draco stood behind him and Harry could feel Draco's breath on his neck.  It prickled the hair there.  "Don't let me ruin your night, Harry.  I'll leave, you should enjoy yourself."

Harry took the three strides to the door. "I was only here for you," he said softly.

* * *

Harry had spent weeks in his bedroom, allowing tissues and gifted plates with food residue to usurp the floor around his bed, a.k.a., his dinner table, his office, his home, his living room, his kitchen, and everything else in between. His muscles felt atrophied and his throat was raw, his heart heavy.  His reason was gone and those tear streaks had to be permanent by now.

Eventually Harry decided he needed to torture himself _more_ and he found himself telling Draco that friendship would be great. He watched Draco's flings, Draco's relationships, and Draco's love affairs and he laughed, cried, screamed, hated, and envied.

It was after Draco's most serious relationship (to date) ended that Harry got his chance with him.  His only real chance.

Harry had taken Draco out to the pub to get him utterly fucking wankered and Draco had risen to the occasion spectacularly.  He was slurring his words slightly, his tongue a little looser, but he still had most his faculties.  "She was a bitch anyway."  Draco had a lisp when he drank.  It was just one more thing that made him completely lovable.  "She wasn't good enough for me," he decided, "Fucking—"

Harry pressed his first three fingers against Draco's lips.  This had been going on for nearly a half hour and he was tired of hearing about 'Andrea' or 'Asteria' or whatever it was.  "You're right, she wasn't. It's a good thing it's over. Let's talk about something else, don't even waste your breath on her."

Draco slid his hand along Harry's cheek and buried his fingers in Harry's raven hair, "You love me, right?" It was still obvious, so obvious that Draco could see it, and Harry had never denied that his feelings hadn't changed. "You wouldn't leave me? I've never kissed a bloke before, maybe I'll like it, maybe you are the one and I just haven't figured it out. Maybe I'm gay, how great would that be? And then we could be together, everything would be so good between us because you really love me. Can I kiss you, Harry?"

Harry's thoughts were conflicting. He knew Draco was using him but this – this was everything he desired, craved, wanted, no, _needed_. He couldn't deny himself. "Please do," Harry breathed, his ecstasy actually clouding his vision.

Draco pulled Harry from his stool at the bar into the one next to it, Draco's, so that Harry was straddling him, and both of Draco's hands cupped Harry's cheeks. He pressed his lips to Harry's nose, cheek, the corners of his mouth. He ran his tongue along Harry's lips, outlining them with the tip before pressing inside the wet cavern of Harry's mouth.

Draco wrapped his tongue around Harry's and slid it along the length of his enthusiastic captive's. Harry moaned into Draco's mouth, wrapping his arms around Draco's neck. His cock was hardening and he wanted nothing more than to rut against Draco but he was too afraid it would be enough to spook him.

This was Arcadia. Draco's mouth was the Promised Land and Harry was his willing follower.

Draco withdrew and licked his lips like he was trying to suss out what the taste on them was.  "I don't feel anything, no butterflies in my stomach. I don't think I'm gay."

Draco noticed Harry's crestfallen expression, he _had_ felt butterflies, and he felt the swollen length against his stomach. Without thinking, he pressed a hand over it. "But I've got you all worked up, haven't I? We could have sex but I don't want to delude you, this won't mean for me what it will for you. We don't have to do it."

Harry had always known Draco was a bit easy and, even though Draco had warned him, Harry knew he would wake tomorrow and think of them as lovers. "I want you," Harry said into Draco's ear.

"That's what I wanted to hear."  Draco grinned as he lifted Harry up and left a handful of Galleons on the bar. Once outside, Draco Apparated them back to the Manor – his bedroom at the Manor.

Harry had never been in Draco's bedroom and he wanted to scrutinize every detail but he was being held prisoner by Draco's arms, and he wasn't exactly hating it. Draco threw him down on the bed.  "I've never done this before. You?"

Harry shook his head.  He was a virgin. He had saved himself for Draco. He was just barely nineteen and his entire world had been Draco since he'd _had_ a sex drive. "How do you want to do it?" Draco asked as he kicked off his shoes and tore his t-shirt off over his head.

"I want you inside me," Harry said, the tips of his ears going red.

Draco grinned. "How 'bout both? It's my first romp into gay sex.  Might as well get the full tour the first time."

* * *

They made love five times that night (and morning), three times with Draco on top. Harry liked it better that way. Draco had kept his promise and it hadn't meant anything to him and Harry had kept his promise and he had thought it had.

Harry loved Draco so much and everyone knew it.  So when Draco got married nearly a year later, Harry's heart broke and everyone knew it. Harry didn't like her, he never used her name, and she didn't deserve Draco. Ron and Hermione had tried to set him up, get him over Draco, but there was no one else who even held his attention. Draco had never tried and Harry would have killed him if he had.

Draco tiptoed around him and apologized profusely. Harry had, of course, retreated to his only friend - his bed.  But when he rejoined the world two months later, it was with Draco at his side. Harry worshiped him but he didn't touch, he desired him but he never made a move, he was in awe of him but he never told him.

* * *

It was when Harry found the harem that he could truly breathe again.  It was _that_ that made him no longer felt like the walking dead. One hair of Draco's and Harry could abide, he could subsist on the monthly visits. It was a different boy every time.  Of course they all looked like the man that made him melt by the time he laid eyes on them. Their success was most likely helped by the fact that you only needed to garner _one_ hair and they could replicate it so that your subject would stay frozen in the time they had lost it. Harry took Draco's virginity every time he had him.

He felt guilty about using Draco's body the way he did, which was why he restrained his visits to once a month, and he never allowed the prostitutes at the harem to take him. His body was reserved for Draco, the _genuine_ Draco. He couldn't tell Draco about what he did on a fairly regular basis but he also couldn't endure watching the love of his life with some woman who didn't deserve to lick his boots.

* * *

The visits became daily nearly a year later. He no longer cared about guilt or shame, he cared about Draco. He only left his house to go to the Polyjuice harem. He didn't see Draco anymore, he couldn't. He avoided everyone that had ever met him too, which meant Ron and Hermione were out.  But for some reason they wouldn't _stay_ out.

"Harry." Hermione's too-timid voice invaded his bedroom. He heard her footsteps drawing closer to his door. Harry couldn't even raise his head.  It didn't matter.  Whatever they had to say, it didn't matter.

His room was a disaster area that was fit to be condemned, clutter and chaos reigning supreme. There was moldy food, broken and sticky dishes, used tissues, crumpled newspapers, and sullied clothes scattered across what would have been his floor if you could find it.

Hermione entered his room and her hand flew to cover her mouth and nose. Ron followed close behind and mimicked her action. Hermione's voice was nasally behind it. "Harry, you have to get out of bed. And I know you've been going to that hovel again, it's not healthy." He still didn't know how Hermione had found out about his habit but he wouldn't put it past her to have had him followed.

"Yeah, mate, why don't we go out, just the two of us?" Ron chimed in.

Harry rolled his eyes and then his body, letting his former friends know that he wasn't listening. He heard their footsteps out followed by the _click_ of the door closing, after nearly an hour of them yammering on about nothing.

* * *

It was a month later that Ron and Hermione decided to return to Harry's apartment. It was amazing how long they had gone without seeing him in the past year.  A month was almost recent with their new standards. They slinked to Harry's room and Hermione tried the door. It was locked.

She knocked to no avail and called through the door, "Harry, I know you don't want to talk to us. I know you just want to see Draco. We all do. But he's gone, Harry. You're not. You have to get out of that bed."  Hermione huffed the bangs out of her eyes and took a new tack.  "You're taking this harder than Astoria.  She's moved on in the eight months since his death, you know.  She's went back to work, she's dating. I know you loved him, Harry, but none of us could have foreseen the accident. All we can do is live now. Live for Draco."

Hermione shrugged to Ron when her words failed to produce even a murmur from inside and she pulled out her wand. " _Alohomora_." Hermione gasped when she entered Harry's room.  It was immaculate.  The floor was polished, the walls were spotless, and the bed, _oh god_ , the bed.

Harry's arms were folded neatly across his middle.  He was on top of the primly drawn covers, eyes closed, expression serene, chest still.  Clutched in Harry's hands were two vials.  One still had a few drops left of the poison he'd swallowed, the other looked empty and it took her awhile to see it: a single golden strand.

She shook her head, not wanting to believe what Harry had undoubtedly done.  "Oh God," she said helplessly, "I knew it.  I told you I had a bad feeling, I knew it. I should have—"

Ron held her fast, his eyes not budging from the gray-tinged skin of Harry's face.  "There was nothing you could have done," he said starkly, swallowing hard.  "He was depressed; he had been for a long time.  He _would've been_ for ages longer.  He loved Draco in ways that."  Ron stopped himself, fell back a step, like he was remembering old advice to never speak ill of the dead.  "He _loved_ him.  Even if he couldn't have him, it was enough for Harry to _be_ with him.  Without that—There wasn't anything left."  He squeezed Hermione's shoulders.  "I hope, if there's something _after_ , that Harry gets to have him now.  All he's ever wanted was the real thing and all he ever had was the illusion.  He always deserved more than that, I like to think he's got it now."

Hermione sniffled in his arms and Ron finally broke his one-sided staring match.  He pulled Hermione from the room.  They had a funeral to plan and a life to live.


End file.
